Asya, resurrection
by lilyblodyn
Summary: What if that wasn't really Varania in the Hanged Man, but a liar and an impostor? What if Fenris still has someone from his past life looking for him? Set after Act 3: my view on what really happened before the Lyrium, a new adventure in Tevinter, Fenris/OC, and a little f!Hawke/Anders love also. Rated M for language and content in later chapters.. and a little gory violence
1. Warmth

**Hello everyone! **I'll keep this short: the storyline doesn't strictly obey in-game rules and happenings – it's my take on Fenris' past and persona. Enjoy! Reviews are hugely appreciated, much love to them!

Bioware own everything I am writing about (apart from Asya), but what's a little sharing huh?

* * *

**1. Warmth**

A trickle of blood slowly slid from the palm of her hand to her fingertip,  
dripping onto the dusty wooden floor.

Her eyes were wide in the dimly lit room.  
She clenched all her muscles, straining her long pointy ears to hear if there were more coming.

The mansion was silent.  
Her heart was pounding so loudly she feared someone from next-door might hear it and call the guards. She brushed her hands on her thighs and turned to face the door, making her way towards it in an almost cat-like manner, brushing past the dead bodies on the floor with disgust.

_Slavers_, she thought, _may you all rot in hell_.

She walked out onto the street and quickly started walking. She was covered in blood. It was dark, and nobody would probably notice anyway, being as she was in Lowtown. She kept her eyes down so as to not attract anyone's attention and walked into the inn. It was packed. _Good_, she thought to herself. That way she wouldn't get noticed. She walked straight up the stairs, trying to avoid a mass of drunken men starting a brawl.

She entered her room quickly and shut the door behind her, leaning on it and letting out a long sigh of relief. Safe. More or less.

The bathing facilities in the Hanged Man were very basic, but she'd been used to bathing in a freezing cold river up until then, so it was good enough for her. She undressed and slipped into a loose linen nightshirt as she started to un-crust her clothing from blood. Her long silver hair shone oddly red in the candlelight. She'd have to wash it thoroughly as well.

* * *

There was quite a lot more noise than usual in the Hanged Man that evening, Hawke and Isabela were practically yelling at each other from across the table. But he wasn't paying attention anyway.

"Are you all right, Elf?" he heard Varric say drunkenly, his half-empty flask of mead held askew in his hand.

"I'm fine" said Fenris, attempting a smirk "you, however, do not seem to be so" he added, as Varric tried to focus on him, looking at him in what he must have thought was a scrutinizing look.

"You look.. weird" said the dwarf, trying to maintain his balance and focus on the elf at the same time.

"I'm fine" Fenris repeated, turning away.  
It was a lie. "I'd best be off" he said to nobody, as he elegantly rose from his seat and turned to face his companions.

Isabela and Hawke were absorbed in a very loud conversation about what he understood to be whips. He dared not investigate. "I will see you soon, have a good evening" he said to Varric, who looked at him, slightly confused, and grunted back a reply. "Bloody broody elf" he muttered to himself, as he watched Fenris walk out of the Hanged Man.

[...]

The Hightown mansion was cold and dark as always.

Fenris walked up the stairs to his room and tentatively poked the last embers in the fireplace, willing them to spark into life. But they didn't. He let out a sigh and grabbed the firestone from the mantelpiece. As he tried to get the fire going, his mind started to trail off again.  
He had sensed something odd back in the inn. Just for a few seconds. A presence. He had experienced nothing like it before, in his memory at least. It felt like something familiar, yet he could not place it anywhere. It felt _warm_.

Fenris swore loudly.  
He had burned himself.


	2. Closer

**2. Closer**

Her long silky silver hair shone white in the candlelit room. She glanced distractedly at the brawl on the street from the grimy window and sighed.  
She was so close. So close. She just had to find that damned dwarf Anso.  
Now she had finally reached Kirkwall she could sense he was near, but dared not follow her elven senses. It could have been anyone. And she had to be careful.

She quivered slightly at the thought of seeing him again, after all those years. Would he remember her? _Of course he will_, she thought firmly.

The bed was hard and uncomfortable, the moth-eaten blanket barely covered her ankles, but she felt warm inside.  
A tentative smile crawled across her face as relief and anticipation started ebbing through her. The chase was over.

* * *

Fenris cradled his burned hand, swearing under his breath at it.  
How could he have been such a fool? Trailing off like that. It wasn't like him at all.  
And he couldn't bear the thought of having to go to Anders' clinic in the morning. _That jumped up mage fool. Almost got us all killed,_ he thought bitterly.

Still, that _feeling_ he'd had in the Hanged Man tormented him. He couldn't stop thinking about it. A presence, he was sure of it.  
Could there have been someone in the Inn? There were too many people to tell. And anyway, no one he'd likely feel familiar with.

Maybe it was just the memories; slowly coming back as the presence of Danarius' magic ebbed away with the years.  
He walked over to his bed, lifting the sheets with his good hand and slipping beneath them.

He lay in bed, staring blankly at the ceiling, letting his mind wander.

_"Leto! LETO! No, don't take him! He knows not what he is doing!"_  
_Strong hands grabbed his arms, but he did not resist._  
_"Mother, please, it's his choice" his sister's voice was oddly cold, and felt out of place, slightly out of tune._  
_A strong rope was being tied around his wrists, cutting into them._  
_He twitched slightly at the pain._  
_"Don't hurt him! Oh, please, Varania DO SOMETHING!"_

He felt as if the ceiling above him had come crashing down on his on his face.

_Mother?_ He thought.

* * *

The market in Lowtown was not a place for the squeamish. Hunks of god-knows what meat hung from hooks above wooden bloodstained counters. Yellowy-brown cheeses were stacked on the floor next to it, and a couple of chickens ran free in-between the other stalls which sold weirdly assorted books, rusty odd-shaped weapons, potions in dusty grimy bottles and a very strange assortment of herbs and ingredients. Which, she saw to her own amazement, included human body parts.

She looked around carefully, tugging on her hood slightly. Her hair was tied up in a neat bun on the back of her head. But still, she didn't want to be noticed.

"You new round here?" she felt someone grab her waist and drag her into a very well concealed back alley, as a cold steel blade was pressed against her throat.  
She smiled. "Yes, and it's why you shouldn't be messing with me" she said calmly.  
Before anything else could happen, she swiveled round in the thug's grasp, twisting the dagger out of his hand as she did. She pressed the point of the blade against his chest.

"No, milady please, mercy!" he whispered. His breath stank of stale mead. "I got nothing to buy me bread with!" he gasped, as she lifted the blade to his throat, smirking cruelly and taking one step back.

"You do that again, I'll kill you" she breathed coldly "and you'd better tell your friends not to try anything funny with me" she added, nodding her head towards a small group of men with daggers and tatty clothing who had suddenly appeared in the alley, "or I kill them first, then I find you and kill you as well" she looked at him "got it?".

He nodded frantically, "understood milady, no one's to be bothering you any longer" he said nervously.  
"Good" she muttered, and threw the dagger to the floor.  
The thug grabbed it and vanished down the dark back alley with his associates.

_Now, Anso.. _she thought as she lightly slipped out into the market again.


	3. Skin

**3. Skin**

"Oh, it's you" said Anders, barely concealing the tone of displeasure in his voice.  
"I've burned my hand" said Fenris coldly.  
"And you trust a mage to sort that out for you?" Anders mused.  
"Do not taunt me, mage" said the elf, frowning slightly "I'd gladly live with the burn forever rather than have you heal it. But it's my sword hand" he finished.  
"Oh well that's a shame then isn't it?" the mage replied sarcastically.  
"Just do it" was the dry reply.  
"Show me" Anders said coldly.  
Fenris stuck his hand out in front of the mage, trying to keep his calm and not think about the raging demon inside the man standing next to him.

"How in Maker's name did you get this burn? You must have been holding molten metal or something. That's a serious injury. Doesn't it hurt?" the mage looked up at Fenris, bewildered.  
"It is of no concern to you. If you are a healer, then heal" the elf replied icily.  
"Fine" Anders said, muttering something about _"just asking"_ and _"you narcissistic idiot" _under his breath. He wiped the air above the rugged burn with his fingers, and a ball of blue light fell onto Fenris' hand. The elf twitched, feeling the magic touch his skin. He hated this. His heart skipped a few beats as he felt the wound on his hand move slightly.

_"Now, boy, come closer"_  
_He stepped obediently up to Danarius._  
_The man grabbed his shoulders and whipped him round, pushing him down onto all fours. –You will not move- came the mages voice, cold but full of anticipation._  
_"Of course, Master"_

_Then,_  
_light._

_And there came a pain that he had never known before._  
_His mind went white and hot. The skin on his back felt as if it was…opening. His elbows buckled beneath him and his face slammed hard on the granite floor._

_"I told you not to move, elf!" Danarius shouted impatiently._

_He wanted to scream._  
_Call someone._  
_For help._  
_Help, he could feel his brainwaves echo the word desperately, terrified. And beyond that, there was nothing. Pain beyond anything he could ever have thought possible. His eyes exploded in a million white hot little fragments, his heart straining to keep him alive as the scream that forced itself out of his throat almost chocked him. His senses failed him, and he slumped to the floor._

_"Good, it works" was the last thing he heard before he slipped into unconsciousness._

The blue ball lingered a few seconds then vanished, leaving his hand perfectly healed and smooth. Fenris stood, his legs holding him up stiffly, as if they were made of wood. He didn't move his hand from where it lay, limp on Anders' palm. He felt paralyzed on the spot. The thought of what he had just experienced fresh on his mind. His brow dotted with sweat. His eyes wide and blank.

"You're welcome?" the mage said, slightly offended.

Fenris snapped back to reality and turned quickly to face Anders. He said nothing, retracted his hand viciously as if he had been burned again and stormed out of the clinic.

* * *

"SO YOU'RE SAYING HE MIGHT BE DEAD?" she yelled, turning to face him.

The dwarf cringed.

"What? N-no! All I know is some guy working for Athenril went to find him. And anyway, the elf never told me his name. He might not even be your _Leto"_.

The elf looked at him, tempted to draw her dagger and be done with him, but instead she paused, lowering her frustrated gaze to the floor. "If it's any help", the dwarf continued jumpily, "you might want to speak to Athenril. She probably knows where you can find this guy. And if you find him, you get to know where this elf of your is, and-" but he suddenly stopped talking, as her gaze snapped up at him, a cold look in her eyes and her eyebrows raised "Leto is no one's" she said under her breath. "Ok, ok, I wasn't implying anything" he replied anxiously "b-but it might not be hi-" "OF COURSE IT IS!".  
She paused, and started to frantically pace up and down in front of the dwarf, who was fidgeting uncomfortably "I have traced every single slaver who has ever tried to track him down and capture him" she said, trying to control her voice from bursting into a frustrated and angry scream "and after all these years, it has led me to you" she finished, stopping mid-pace to stare at him intently.

"Er..well" he said, looking down at his stubby hands.  
"Why do you not have more information? What are you hiding form me, dwarf?" she asked aggressively, suddenly losing her patience again.  
"All I can give you is a description and Athenril's name!" he pleaded "I know nothing else, I swear! The elf was always so _reserved_. Never let anything slip!"

The look in his eyes told her he was telling the truth. She looked away, letting a very quiet sigh slip through her lips, "yes, that has always been very much like him" she said absently. The dwarf relaxed slightly, letting out a tentative sigh of relief.  
"Where can I find this Athenril?" she asked, her voice resigned and disappointed, "Hightown" replied Anso "usually near the Blooming Rose, just ask for Athenril and say Anso told you about her" he added.

The elf nodded a thanks and walked past him, up the steps to Hightown.


	4. Last Step

**4. Last Step**

The last embers of daylight shone orange on the horizon, making Kirkwall look oddly warm, as the first of the night stars started to dot the sky. She walked up the last couple of steps to find herself in a small square, opposite which she recognized the Blooming Rose, the city brothel. She stopped and looked around. A blonde elf not too far away was crouching over what looked like a huge logbook. She smiled.

* * *

He was looking at the empty fireplace, as if it could somehow give him answers. His gauntlets laid abandoned on the floor next to where he sat, clenching his hands tightly. He looked down at them. They were scabbed and rough, and a few scars danced around the perfectly intact and smooth lyrium burns. _Odd_, he thought to himself, as he realized that the few memories that had come back over the last two days continued to linger in his mind. It had never happened before. He felt his stomach sink a little as he recalled the night he had shared with Hawke, and how all the memories that had flickered in his mind while he was with her had vanished just as quickly as he lay next to her.

"But… why?" He found himself asking the fireplace. Silence came as an obvious reply. He let out a frustrated snort of laughter at his own stupidity and stood up, picking up his gauntlets and covering his lean elf hands with them once again.

* * *

"Business is over, come back tomorrow" Athenril said carelessly, as she handed her logbook to one of her elven guards. She turned to face the woman who had spoken. She smiled. "Then again" she added tilting her head to one side and crossing her arms knowingly, her interested smile widening, "you look like you might be of some help".

"I'm looking for information" the silver-haired elf said in a steely voice.  
"Everything has a price" replied Athenril "what kind of information?"

"I need to know whom you sent to help the dwarf Anso," she said, knowing the information wouldn't come easily from a smuggler, a clever elven one at that. Athenril's smile slowly slid down her face as she stared intently at the woman in front of her "what for?" she asked suspiciously, "that's quite the piece of information you're asking for, you know".

"Personal business" was the only answer she obtained.

There was a short pause. "You're not from round here are you?" Athenril asked "I can tell by your accent, even though you try to hide it. The person you seek is one of my most trusted former _employees_, so to speak" she added with a small grin "I need to know I can trust you, er, what did you say your name was again?".

"What would you have of me?" the woman said, realizing she wouldn't get around her without a fight, ignoring the question.

"Good choice" Athenril said approvingly. She looked her curiously in the eyes for a few seconds before turning round and taking the logbook from her guard. "I'm having a few problems with some mercenaries employed by the Carta I suspect" she continued in a matter-of-fact voice "they're somewhere here in Hightown, they've been killing my men and stealing my goods during the night. I need them sorted out, if you know what I mean" she concluded.

"Tonight?" "Yes" "You have no idea where they might be?".

Athenril smiled, "I have a business contract being signed next to the DuPuis mansion tonight. They will probably try to ambush my men and steal the gold" she replied.

"How many?" "Maybe about a dozen?" "I can handle that" the woman said.

Athenril watched her, her interested gaze sweeping from the silver hair tied in a knot on the woman's head to her blue eyes to the various blades and pouches hanging from her leather belt "who are you?" she asked.

"My name is Asya, that is all you need to know".

Athenril nodded "fair enough" she replied with another slight grin.  
Asya turned and walked away, only to stop after a few steps and turn her head to one side "I'll be back in the morning" she said, lifting a hood over her head and slipping into the shadows of the evening. "Do you think she'll survive? You didn't tell her they were mages" one of the elven guards broke the curious silence that Asya had left behind her. Athenril looked at him, the expression on her face unreadable, "she's a clever one, Danyl, she might just make it".


	5. Asya

**5. Asya**

It was dark.  
She hid, crouching behind a chimney on the rooftop of DuPuis mansion.  
Her head was concealed in a black hood and her eyes open wide, searching.

As she wondered whether it might have all been a trick and whether the elf had deceived her, she glimpsed a small group of men talking in hushed voices beneath the shadow of a tree. _Athenril's men_, she thought. She searched the surroundings, and sure enough another dozen men were making their way towards the small group of smugglers. She looked at them closely. _Robed?_ - "Venhedis" she muttered under her breath, as she realized they were all apostates.

The men under the tree suddenly caught a glimpse of the mages and readied their swords for battle. _Idiots,_ Asya thought, _those aren't going to help you_.

She pulled her sleeves above her elbows, exposing three small throwing daggers on each leather-bound forearm. She then turned to the group of mages who had started shouting and leering at the smugglers, trying to spot the weakest: those would be the first she took out. She stood on the edge of the roof, concealed by the shadow of a chimney, took aim, and smiled.

Three of the mages collapsed to the floor almost at the same time, one hit in the throat, one in the eye and the other in the stomach. The apostates suddenly scattered, looking madly around them for the source of the flying daggers. "There!" one of them shouted, sending a fireball right towards her. _Kaffar_, she thought as she flung herself to one side and graciously jumped from the roof, avoiding the blistering spell that had been thrown at her and landing perfectly poised on the stone street with a small thud. "Next?" she said with a grin as she straightened herself to a standing position.

* * *

"Messere!" Bodahn's voice echoed up the stars, slightly alarmed. Hawke left her desk and walked out of her quarters, slightly annoyed at being interrupted while reading one of the few letters she received from Bethany. "Yes, Bodahn?" she said as she stepped down the stairs, tightening her belt and sensing there was something wrong going on. "My boy and I were just finishing off packing," he explained, "and Sandal here thought we should open the door, you know, for a bit of fresh air. Well, we almost got fried by a spirit bolt" he finished, slightly flustered.

"Oh lovely, more fun" Hawke said ironically.  
"Problems?" came Anders voice from the stairs behind her "we've got a mage situation, apparently" she replied, looking amusedly at him as he approached them. "My cup of tea I guess" he said with a sigh. She planted a kiss on his cheek, pulling his face to hers with one hand, "come on, let's go get 'em" she said grinning, and squeezing his hand with her other.

"You're a magnet for trouble, love" he said with a resigned smile, as he watched her pick up her daggers from the table next to the fireplace and pull her gauntlets on. "You haven't got used to that yet?" she replied grinning at the straps on her gauntlets "I don't think I ever will" Anders said, grabbing his staff and following her towards the front door.

* * *

The fight had moved down the steps to the Chantry, and then round the corner in front of the steps that lead to the Keep. Asya was dueling one of the four mages that remained, the daggers she held shining blue in the moonlight as she deflected the spells he was throwing at her. She sensed his energies starting to fail him and smiled cruelly, breathing heavily. She pulled a metal spike from a pouch on the back of her belt and aimed at him. It hit him square in the forehead before he could utter another spell. She immediately whipped round, and her eyes widened as she saw a huge fireball racing towards her, only a few feet away. _Shit._ She closed her eyes tight, readying for impact, but nothing happened. The spell should have hit her. She opened her eyes, confused, and saw she had been enclosed in a silvery bubble: a magical shield. She turned on herself, and saw a rogue woman and oddly _feathery_ mage racing towards them. "You're welcome!" the man shouted at her as they passed her. The bubble popped and she ran towards the fight, deflecting spells as she went. There were three apostates left.

"Oh, this will be fun" she heard the mage who had saved her say. She noticed his eyes were glowing blue slightly. He drew a circle in the air with his staff and pointed it at one of the mages, initiating a duel.

"Oooh we've got one each!" the rogue woman said excitedly, drawing her two large daggers and leaping towards the oldest and most powerful of the two remaining mages, who was surrounded by what was left of Athenril's men. _You're skilled, I give you that_, she thought.

She turned to the last mage and tilted her head from one side to the other, stretching the muscles in her neck and pulling a flask full of explosive liquid from a pouch hanging from her belt. "To us, then" she said with a slight smile.

[…]

The last mage slumped to the floor, retching blood. "Well, we won" came an amused male voice. "Indeed, what a surprise" the woman replied. Only two of Athenril's men had survived, and one of them was on the floor, clenching his stomach to keep his innards where they belonged. He let out a loud moan. "Oh, right" the mage said, stepping alongside the man and engulfing him in blue light. The blue light quivered slightly, and then went out. The mage fell onto his knees, his hand on his brow. "Are you alright?" the woman asked him, kneeling on the floor beside him and placing an arm around his shoulders. "I'm good" he replied, slightly breathless. "What about you? And what were you doing here?" she asked the two men.

"We're working for Athenril, Champion, we'd be dead if it weren't for her" one of them replied, nodding at Asya "dropped out the sky and killed 'em all she did". "She did, did she" the woman turned to face the elf and got up, squeezing the mage's shoulder slightly and helping him get onto his feet. "I jumped off the roof, more like. And thank you for the help," Asya said, an eyebrow raised and the shadow of an amused grin on her lips "…_champion_" she added, her grin now clearly visible.

"Yes, yes" the woman swept the last word aside with an elegant hand gesture "that's what they like to call me here, something to do with killing the leader of the Qunari and saving the city from war ages ago. Nothing like a good Tuesday" she added briskly, with a slight grin. "My name is Sophia Hawke" she said, tilting her head to one side "and this is Anders" she added, clapping a hand on his shoulder.

"A good name, it means _wisdom_" Asya muttered thoughtfully, shifting her gaze to the man, "I see you've stopped glowing" she added, in a slightly louder voice. "Ah, yes, that happens sometimes, nothing to worry about" Anders said, cheerfully concealing his mild embarrassment. "I think it's your turn now" Hawke said, looking at her intently. "Asya" the elf replied cautiously. "And what brings you to Kirkwall?", Hawke continued. Asya narrowed her blue eyes and paused. She turned round and walked over to one of the mages, pulling her metal spike out of his forehead and wiping it on his robe. "I'm… looking for a friend" she finally said, as she fastened the spike back onto her belt. Hawke looked at her, then at the carnage before them, "fine", she said half-confused, half-curious and slightly bewildered. Asya nodded, "Thank you again, I hope to see you soon, Sophia Hawke. Maybe under better circumstances" she told them. "Oh Hanged Man anytime" Hawke chuckled. Anders and Hawke watched the elf walk away, pulling her throwing daggers out of mages as she went.

Anders looked at Hawke, "don't tell me you didn't notice" he said. "Of course I did" she replied, intrigued, "same hair, same accent, same skin color… well, apart from the markings". "We should be careful" Anders said, "she's skilled".


	6. Memory

**6. Memory**

He walked out of the mansion, wincing in the early morning light, his head felt as if it was going to crack open. He pressed his gauntleted hands to the sides of his temples, closing his eyes. Voices, he could hear voices. And the dreams from the night before were haunting him, repeating themselves over and over again in his mind.

"Brood? Broody?" he heard Varric's voice call to him from a distance, but he slumped to the floor. The burns on his skin felt as if they were going to explode into flame, he growled in pain, trying to keep his mind focused. He lifted himself onto all fours and realized his eyes were watering. Not tears, they weren't tears. It was the effort of keeping himself up. He felt heavy, his sight was blurred and he fell to the ground again, hitting the cold stone with a loud clank of metal. He felt strong dwarven arms pick him off the street and heave him onto a shoulder. Varric was _carrying_ him. "What? No!" Fenris managed to protest, as he weekly tried to jump off the dwarf's shoulder. "I'm taking you to Blondie. I know you won't like it, but hang in there, ok?" he told him.

"_There you go, my darling"  
__his mother's voice was tired, she handed him a bowl of stew. He felt so small._

Fenris felt his head swing from side to side, limply hanging from his neck.

"_Nana, tell us a story!" he found himself jumping up and down, pure joy in his voice as he watched his grandmother sit down and compose herself. He turned round to look at his sister, but couldn't quite get her into his eyesight. _He looked harder, but the image of the wooden walls and chairs started to fade _"There was an age, back in the ancient times, when we elves were…" _but the voice trailed off into silence.

His arm had got loose and was outstretched, bouncing limply beside him. He couldn't muster the strength to retract it, and he felt himself slump into a daze again.

_He couldn't focus on what was around him.  
__A woman was talking, sobbing beside him.  
__He felt guilty; he knew it was his fault. His arm outstretched around her shoulders and he felt her shudder. "I'll get you out, Leto," the woman said in a cracked voice "I promise. Nothing could be worse than the thought of living without you," she added with a sob._

He felt his heart skip a couple of beats, that was the same thing he had thought when he had left Hawke's mansion, all those years ago. Feeling like an idiot, he added to himself.

"_I will never forget you" he felt his voice say, gravely._

"_I shall get you out" she repeated, defiantly trying to steady her voice. "Don't be foolish, you'll get killed if you try" he said sternly. But he felt his innards melt slightly as he looked at her blotchy, tear streaked cheeks "I do not want you dead" he said, in a softer, more comforting voice. His grip tightened around her shoulders, and their faces got closer and closer. He could feel her breath on his lips._

But he couldn't see her face; he could not see her face.

He drifted off.

"Elf!" Anders' voice echoed slightly in his ears. "Call him by his name, love, please. Are you awake, Fenris?" Hawke's voice came in a slightly softer tone. "Fenris?" Anders said, his voice now slightly concerned. "Umm" he felt his voice croak slightly. "Well, 'umm'... it's something, at least" Hawke mused.  
Fenris opened his eyes, slowly, scared he might throw up if he opened them too quickly _"Vishante"_ he hissed. "Well, the Maker's hairy balls, if it wouldn't be an 'umm' and a bit of swearing in Tevinter!" Anders said impatiently, "I've had enough of healing _him_" and he turned to his utensils table, grabbed a bowl of water, extracted a small linen cloth and placed it carelessly on the elf's forehead.  
"Ah don't worry Blondie, it's the broody elf we're talking about here, what'd you expect?" Varric said with a chuckle. "We brought you to Ander's clinic through the passage under my mansion as soon as Varric brought you to us" Hawke told him, her voice concerned, "you were... pretty messed up" she added, slightly amused, "have you been drinking that stuff in the cellar again?" she then asked, as a small grin threatened to appear on her lips.

Fenris removed the linen cloth from his forehead and watched them, his thoughts wild, somewhere on the verge of pure terror and confusion. "You have no idea, what…" he managed to say, as he sat up on the clinic bed "…something is wrong in Kirkwall" he concluded.

"Oh, right, the elf squatting in a mansion full of wine starts hallucinating, and it becomes a city matter?" Anders mused. Fenris ignored him and turned to the other two "I was hallucinating?" he asked, "you were.. saying things" Hawke said awkwardly. "I wrote them down!" Varric said, "I'd never have missed all the stuff you said back there, pretty powerful in fact, like you were having a little conversation with yourself. Didn't think you had it in you, Broody". "Right, you're the funny dwarf" Fenris said coldly, as he took Varric's notes from him.

"Not your fault?" Fenris muttered, as he read the notes. "Yeah, that one came up quite a lot, along with _I need to leave_ and _can't live like this_" the dwarf said curiously.

* * *

Asya knocked on the mansion's front door, loudly. There was no response. Then, the sound of shuffling steps and quite a lot of locks opening. The door opened slightly, and a dwarf appeared behind it. "Yes? Messere Hawke is not in, who are you?" "A friend of Sophia" Asya replied innocently. The dwarf sighed, "You do look like one of Messere's friends indeed, come in, come in, you can sit inside while you wait for her. She should be back soon" "where is she, if I may ask?" the elf asked him, tentatively. "Oh that elf friend of hers, Fenris, was ill I think. She and Master Anders brought him to the clinic, in fact."

Asya froze "elf friend?" she asked, trying to keep her voice as steady as possible. "Yees, isn't that right Sandal?" Bodahn said carelessly, turning to a young blue-eyed dwarf beside him, who simply smiled blandly. "May I reach them?" Asya almost whispered the last two words, feeling as though a horde of fully-grown dragons had just hit her hard in the face. "You must be worried for the elf as well right? Of course, I'll show you to the passage to the clinic", but as he walked cheerfully towards a small door below the stairs that lead to the bedrooms, he turned round and looked at her suspiciously "you _have_ been there before, haven't you?" he asked her.

"Of-of course I have! Sophia and Anders invited me there personally, you know, if I ever contracted any, er, illnesses" she stammered, completely taken-a-back. "Very well. You know, I have to ask" Bodahn told her knowingly as he led her through the small door "what with all this mage-templar mess, we wouldn't want Master Anders to be taken from us now would we?" he concluded, showing her down a small flight of steps to the cellar and into a rather large cupboard. Asya nodded a thanks to the dwarf, and stepped into the cupboard. She found a door handle at the back of it. She pushed it down and opened a small door. A gush of cold air swept over her face. She stepped out into a stone passage and breathed in deeply.

_This is it_, she thought with a shudder.


	7. Leto?

**7. Leto?**

She could see the back of a trapdoor up ahead. Her heart leaped a few beats, willing her to move faster. She felt her lungs tighten slightly and found it harder and harder to catch her breath. _What's happening? I've been this close before_, she thought, her heartbeats hammering at her ribs.

She touched the door, and realized her hand was trembling. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, steadying her muscles. Muffled voices made their way through the gaps around the door, "No, don't rip them! I need them! Ugh, you're no fun are you?" "I shall not be in your tales, dwarf, and I was not _crying_".

She felt herself sink into the stone floor beneath her with a cold shiver.

It was his voice.

She opened the trap door; her hands seemed to be moving on their own. She stepped out of a faux wooden box in between two tatty beds and looked around. The voices suddenly stopped. "What are you doing here?" Hawke's voice came sternly from behind her. She turned. Her muscles tensed. She could feel her heart pounding against her lungs, making it hard for her to breathe properly.

She gasped.

Behind Hawke and Anders, sitting on a dirty canvas bed, was Leto. She cupped a hand against her mouth and could feel her legs starting to falter. "Leto" she whispered hoarsely against her palm. Fenris looked at the elf woman. He recognized the name. There was only one way she could have known it. His three companions stared from one elf to the other, confused, "friend of yours?" Varric mused. "I think it's time for you to be honest with us, Asya" Hawke finally said.

Asya's gaze snapped from Fenris to Hawke "and who are you to me?" she spat, "well, for a start, Anders and I _kind_ of saved your life, if I recall correctly" Hawke replied, an eyebrow raised, "so I think we deserve a little more... insight". Asya ignored her and turned back to Fenris "Well?" she asked him, a little worried. Fenris looked slightly confused; then he felt a wave of anger sweep over him as he remembered the last person who had come back to him calling him _Leto_. "Well what?" he asked her aggressively, getting to his feet and pushing past Anders and Hawke. "Fenris-" Hawke started, but Anders held out a hand, gesturing her to remain silent, "this is his call, love" he told her.

"I know you're angry, Leto" she said as he came closer "it took me ages, I couldn't find you, I-" but she suddenly stopped talking. Fenris had come to a halt right in front of her, scowling. She could distinctly see a set of intricate markings in his neck glow slightly. "So, this is all your fault?" he growled, gesturing at his forehead, "who sent you?" he snapped. "Wh-what?" Asya stuttered, "nobody sent me, it's me, Leto, can't you see?" she pleaded, feeling sudden warmth in her eyes. "Stop calling me that! What are you talking about?" he snarled, his fist starting to glow blue. Asya's blue eyes widened in shock as they filled with furious tears, "Venhedis," she whispered, "what have they done to you?"

"No don't!" Hawke's voice called from behind him as Varric added, "not the best at words is he?" But it was too late. His fist sunk hard into her chest, he felt for her heart and tightened his grip. "TELL ME! Who are you working for?" he shouted at her. She gasped for air, her blood suddenly rushing to her head, her hands grasped his forearm and tightened around it, trying to make him stop. "Festis bei umo canavarum*" she gasped, "Look at me, Leto!". His green, furious eyes met hers, terrified but defiant, for a fleeting second.

And it happened, again.

_He looked up from the ground._

_All he could taste was dirt and blood, and he could tell that a couple of his ribs had broken when he'd landed on the hard, dusty ground of the Arena. People were cheering, leering, laughing and shouting all around him. He got up and regained balance._

_The elf in front of him was panting, and he could see by how he held himself that his sword arm was severely broken._

_He looked up, searching the crowd, and saw her. She was sitting on the edge of a step in between the seats. Her clothes were dirty and bedraggled, her face covered in tears, her silvery white hair falling loosely around her face. She hugged her legs with her skinny arms, rocking back and forth, sobbing. He felt a wave of desperation hit him like a hard brick wall and turned back to the elf, who had painfully picked up his weapon. He lifted his sword with both hands and with a triumphant cry of pain and exhaustion, cut the other elf's head clean off. He looked up again. She had gone._

Fenris' eyes widened in shock. He immediately let go of the woman's heart and extracted his hand from her chest, as if he had been burned. He swore, loudly. Asya fell to her knees, grasping her chest and fighting for air, her head spinning, her other hand weakly holding her from falling flat onto the grimy stone floor.

Fenris looked at her, aghast. He had just seen her crying for him, years ago, and there she was, on all fours in front of him. And he had almost killed her.

He stared at her as she got up with difficulty and steadied herself on her feet. She was different from his memory. Her arms were no longer skinny, but lean and strong. Her biceps elegantly and ever so slightly pushed on the leather straps of her armor; her hair was longer and less bedraggled, woven into a plait that neatly lay over her shoulder. A small silver chain hung around her neck, rippling slightly on her collarbone and disappearing under a woven leather strap. Her hands were long and slim, but he could tell they were strong.

"You IDIOT!" she cried angrily. Before he knew it, her hand had hit him hard on the cheek. He stared at her, his cheek burning. No one had ever called him an _idiot_, or slapped him in the face. He scowled at her, hearing Anders mutter a bewildered "I like her" behind him. "And don't you look at me like that!" she told him, "I spend the last ten-odd years looking for you, and you try to kill me!" she was furious. "But-" Fenris retorted, "but what? I almost got assassinated trying to track you down! And all those slavers… vishante kaffas!" she spat, "do you think you could have handled all the slavers and mercenaries that mage filth sent after you without me halving their numbers?" she asked him furiously, "NO!" she shouted, tears filling her eyes, "I was always a week, a day, an _hour_ too late. All I could find were... dead bodies, and- I prayed, oh I _prayed_, that you weren't one of them-" but she broke off, holding her face in her hands.

Fenris just stared. He looked behind his shoulder at his three companions, their expressions were blank; Hawke shrugged, her eyebrows raised. He turned back to the silver-haired elf, who had managed to compose herself and was now staring at him furiously.

"I don't.. I don't know who you are" he told her helplessly.

* * *

***Festis bei umo canavarum: _"you will be the death of me"_, used in a bit of a different context.**  
**Note: I picture Asya's leather armor very much like Keira Knightley's in the film "King Arthur".**

**Reviews, anyone?**


	8. Lyrium Born

**8. Lyrium Born**

She just stared at him.

Her heart had just fallen somewhere below her knees. "You.. what?" she managed to whisper, her voice quivering slightly, "it's those markings you have, isn't it? They've changed you, haven't they?" she said in a slightly broken voice.

He didn't think he could stand to see her cry again.

He thought fast, and decided on telling her the truth. He knew she was a part of his past, he'd seen it. Even though he couldn't know her intentions for sure, he had backup right behind him, and nothing to loose. "They haven't changed me, they've done much more than that" he said, watching her closely as she hung on his every word, her eyes furiously searching his.  
"When Danarius gave me these markings, the pain was so intense that I lost all memory of my life before enslavement along with my freedom" he explained gravely "they are made of lyrium" he added.

The fury in her eyes suddenly turned to horror, as her hands clenched tightly and she hissed "_he_ did this to you?", "You mean Danarius? Yes" Fenris replied coldly. She sighed heavily and swore in Tevinter under her breath, then her eyes lit up, "he knew you'd survive" she said, looking at him in disbelief "you were the one he wanted all along, the fight in the Arena was just a set up" gradual realization slipped over her face "but he made you kill him anyway" she concluded, aghast "he _knew_, the slimy bastard, it was just an experiment from the start" her voice started growing in volume again, but he ignored it, "what are you talking about?" Fenris demanded, his frustration and anger suddenly starting to come to a boil again. "I never knew they were going to be made of lyrium" she replied, "you were competing for our freedom, yes, you were going to become Danarius' most prized slave, with _special tattoos_ to prove it, he'd said" she paused, her eyes fell to the grimy floor beneath her, "but he wanted you to prove you were worthy, so he set you up against one of his slaves.. you were to compete for his side"; her head turned slightly to one side "but there was no need, he knew you would win because he knew you were the only one who could survive the lyrium" she finished, finally lifting her sad gaze to his scowl. "Why me? Why would I survive?" Fenris' impatience started to take over again.

"We are descendants of the native elves of mainland Thedas, the creators of the Wood Cities. _We_ taught the humans to use lyrium and enter the Fade, in ancient times. They were just ignorant troglodyte beasts before we taught them our ways," her voice was suddenly proud, unwavering, "where the abomination of Minrathous now stands, our cities once flourished in harmony with spirits and nature. Free" she uttered the last word angrily, raising her eyebrows slightly, daring him to contradict her. He listened, not sure whether he was fascinated or furious. "The lyrium is part of us, Leto, it cannot kill us. We are a unique _race_, so to speak, among the city elves" she explained, watching him closely, "thus the hair" she added, "it's the lyrium".

Fenris felt his insides turn at the sound of his old name. No. He was no Lyrium-loving elven fanatic. He could not believe that his own ancestors had taught mages to enter the Fade, it was absurd. The ultimate contradiction. The bravest of jokes. "My name is Fenris" he growled, but she shook her head at him, "I shall not call you by the name _he_ gave you, but by the name your mother chose for you" she replied, defiant. He gave her a frustrated look and turned away, breathing heavily to steady his hands from starting to glow again, "what do you want from me?" he asked her coldly.

Her pride, her anger and her defiance suddenly quavered beneath his icy emerald gaze. Her blue eyes opened wide and, slightly breathless, she said "what? I don't.. I-". He could swear he'd seen her pointy ears droop a little, like those of a wounded animal. She looked at him, at a loss for words. "I missed you" she managed to whisper with a slight squeak. Her eyes filled with tears again and she furiously averted her gaze from him, looking at the floor to her side.

He stared. He didn't know what to do. He squirmed in his heavy spiked armor. He couldn't think of anything to say, "Where are you staying?" he asked her awkwardly, suddenly feeling slightly guilty. She breathed in deeply, calming herself, "the Hanged Man" she replied "come see me if you want to, otherwise I'll be leaving in a fortnight". He took the information in and nodded, "right" he told her. She watched him for another couple of seconds, her eyes almost overflowing but still strong and bold; she turned and started walking towards the clinic's heavy wooden door.

He watched her silvery-white plait sway from side to side as she walked away, remembering when Varania had met him in that same inn, betraying him to Danarius. Her red hair had glimmered orange in the light of the spells he'd thrown at him and Hawke, and- _wait a second_, he thought as he heard Hawke approach him and place a hand on his shoulder telling him something about having to be careful, _her hair was red. Varania's hair was red._ He launched himself at the door Asya had just walked out of, "WAIT!" he bellowed, as he threw the door open, looking around in a sudden frenzy, "Asya?" he called. But she had gone. All he could see were a few confused Darktown dwellers and a manky alley cat.

He felt a strange warmth seep through him. He could feel the shape of her name lingering on his lips, and wished he could say it again. He would go to the Hanged Man the next day; no doubt she'd be waiting for him.

* * *

**I know. I'm inventing. But it's all good inventing, it'll make Fenris happy.. more or less.. maybe. Maybe in the Hanged Man.**


	9. Grass and Honey

**9. Grass and Honey**

She slumped onto the hard inn bed, a sinking feeling in her stomach. _He didn't even ask me anything about us_, she thought bitterly, _so much anger_. A sigh escaped her lips, and for the first time in all those years she had no idea what to do.

She'd been waiting for him to come all day, sitting at a grimy wooden table slowly drinking the swill they served there, so as not to have to drink more than she had to. She felt a little dizzy though, so she lay down.

Someone knocked at the door and she frowned at it, not wanting to get up again. Whoever it was knocked again, more impatiently. Asya groaned and got up off the bed, picking up a dagger as she walked over to the door. She opened it slightly, and two emerald green eyes met hers. She sighed and opened the door wider, so as to let a very uncomfortable Fenris come inside. She put the dagger onto a small dresser and watched him as he shut the door behind him. "How did you know I'd be in here?" she asked him "there's nothing a few silvers can't buy" he replied, turning round and sitting on a stool next to her bed.

"Right" she said, sitting on her bed again. Fenris watched her; unsure as to what he should say first, "I was thinking about what happened yesterday.." he started awkwardly scratching the back of his neck with a gauntlet "..and I understand you must be upset, you didn't deserve my anger, I am sorry" he concluded. She stared at him; this wasn't how she remembered him talking. He was so formal, so distant. "You needn't keep all that heavy spiky stuff on you while you're here. We're quite safe," she told him. He frowned slightly, a little hurt by the fact she hadn't taken in what he'd just said. He shrugged and removed his gauntlets, placing them on the floor beside him, followed by his shoulder guards and his chest plate. He was wearing a loose linen V-necked shirt, a few small wooden buttons undone down to his collarbone. She suddenly felt a little hot in the cheeks, _shit_, she thought as she realized she was blushing. He watched her turn away, slightly confused. Her silver hair loosely fell over her shoulder; she was wearing what looked like a man's nightshirt and leather leggings; they suited her, in a strangely tom-boy kind of way, even though they looked a little disheveled. "I appreciate you for apologizing" she told him, looking up. He nodded, "I was wondering about what you said yesterday, about the lyrium… why did my sister have red hair?" he asked her, trying to contain his furiously impatient curiosity. She raised her eyebrows, confused. "What? Who told you _that_?" she asked him; she definitely wasn't expecting a question like that. "What do you mean? Surely you know.." his voice trailed off "know what?" she asked him, bewildered. "Varania came to see me, I wrote to her, we agreed to meet.. and she betrayed me to Danarius, so I killed them both" he told her.

She stared, puzzled. "No she didn't" she said. "What?" he demanded with a scowl "of course she did, and now she's dead!". Asya raised an eyebrow; "you think your own sister would betray you to that mage filth? After all you did for her?" she asked him, surprised. "But I could remember her" he said defiantly "Danarius was a powerful mage, he erased your memory. You think he couldn't plant things in there to fool you?" she asked him. "She was going to be his apprentice" Fenris growled. "Varania? A magister's apprentice?" she mused in disbelief, looking at him as he struggled not to lose his patience, "explain yourself" he hissed at her. "Varania and I escaped with your mother straight after your duel, we knew Danarius wouldn't let us be free. He's not exactly a man of his word" she scoffed "but no, Varania is living with a small community of escaped slaves on the outskirts of the Free Marches, I'm quite sure because I've been writing to her, and she's been replying" she told him, her bewildered stare making him cringe. "So you're saying I've been fooled?" he asked her angrily "Prove it". She shrugged and walked over to a small wooden desk, of sorts, opening a draw and pulling out a pack of letters. She sat back onto her bed and handed them to him.

As he took the letters, his fingers brushed on the back of her hand. He cleared his throat and pretended not to notice her ever so slight intake of breath. The only physical contact they'd had up until then had been violent; a fist in the chest and a slap on the cheek. Never anything gentle, not even a handshake. To feel the smooth back of her hand now was strange, new.

_He could feel her hair on his face, the smell of freshly cut grass and honey. Her breath came in short gasps on his neck. He bit the skin on her shoulder gently, his arms wrapped tightly around her waist. He let out a moan. It was hot, so hot, he could barely breathe. Her legs lifted and tightened around his hips, she said something but he couldn't make it out._

_Her hand combed through his hair, grasping it, and he felt her neck vibrate with a low moan. He lifted his head to see her face and bit his lip. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes closed, he bit her lower lip and kissed her, his eyes closing._

He was staring at the letters. "They're all from your sister" she told him with a sigh. He looked at her, suddenly extremely embarrassed, and nodded. She smoothed her hair over her shoulder, tidying it up a little. He caught a whiff of her scent and shuddered. Fortunately she didn't notice, and went on explaining how Danarius must have intercepted his letters, taking advantage of the situation and devising a very clever trap to catch him.

Freshly cut grass and honey.


	10. Burns

**10. Burns**

His forehead was dotted in sweat. The pillow was drenched.  
He breathed heavily, clenching the sheets tightly in his hands. His eyes were shut. A tiny whimper escaped his lips.

_"Leto! LETO! No, don't take him! He knows not what he is doing!" Strong hands grabbed his arms, but he did not resist. "Please, brother, there must be another way" his sister sobbed. A strong rope was being tied around his wrists, cutting into them. He twitched slightly at the pain. "Don't hurt him! Oh, please, Varania DO SOMETHING!" his mother cried, looking at her daughter. She turned back to him, their eyes met and he could see she was about to burst into tears. She flung herself at him, and tugged at the rope, "you can't do this, I should go, not you!"._

"_Mother!" Varania lunged forwards, in an attempt to stop her. A guard flung an armored arm at the woman and she collapsed to the floor, her nose bleeding._

_He felt a sudden surge of anger rush through him and started to struggle against the ropes, wanting to help his mother off the floor._

"_Now now, boy, I wouldn't break your promise right now" Danarius' voice amusedly interrupted his struggles, and he could sense the anticipation and greed in his voice. He did not turn to look at him, but stopped struggling against the ropes. Varania had kneeled down over their mother; she helped her up and scowled at the mage, her green eyes ablaze. Varania. Her eyes were so much like his. Her hair hung loosely around her shoulders, as silvery-white as the moon. He heard the mage chuckle under his breath behind him, "You're a feisty one aren't you?" he mused, eyeing her greedily, "No need to worry, your brother will be my most faithful, my most prized. And he'll be given special.. tattoos, yes, to mark him from the rest, if he proves he is worthy. And I won't bother your worthless little family any longer"._

_He watched his sister struggle the urge to run over to the mage and hurt him as badly as she possibly could. He felt himself smile gently, "Don't worry, sister, it's the only way.. You will be free," he told her. Danarius laughed, "This is so touching!" he said sarcastically, "come on, let's go". The guard pulled on the rope and he felt himself lunge backwards. He looked at his mother once more, her nose was bleeding and tears were streaming down her face. Varania hugged herself, sobbing silently. He turned and followed the guard, his eyes lifting to see the city of Minrathous, towering in the distance._

He gasped and shot up to a sitting position. His sheets were tangled up around him. He struggled to free himself from them and held a hand to his forehead, scowling when he felt it was drenched in sweat.

It was what Asya had told him, back in her room at the Hanged Man. It had gone to his head. He could feel it crawling all over him like a fever, like a horde of hungry insects trying to eat away at him. She had looked at him, a painfully sad look planted in those blue eyes of hers and said "You really don't remember anything?". He couldn't stand it. Getting his memories back was not like getting his old life back, it was not as he had expected. It was more like reading a book and trying to come to terms with the fact that it was actually about him. The memories were cold as they planted themselves in his head. They gave him information. Nothing more. There was no emotion coming back, no sudden rush of recollection. Nothing. Just cold hard blocks of time shoved into his past, and he was just a spectator.

He swung his legs round to the side of the bed and stood up, feeling slightly dizzy. He walked over to the fire and poked the few embers that were left from the night before, pondering on what he should do next. So, the Varania he'd met was an impostor. Danarius had lured him into a trap and planted memories that weren't his in his head. Blood magic no doubt. He could remember how, before he'd met Asya, the memories he had of his sister were… _hollow_. He could never quite focus on her; he could never quite make her voice out clearly. Now he saw why; they were not his. He looked over to the window, the sky gleamed yellow and orange as the sun rose behind the Hightown mansion rooftops. His ears twitched slightly. Someone was knocking at the front door. He walked out onto the landing and down the stairs, taking a deep breath as he strode over to the door and opened it.

Asya watched him as he stared down at her, in his nightshirt and leggings, his hair all over the place. "Oh.. sorry" she said, blushing and looking down at her feet. He started, realizing he hadn't dressed _or_ put any of his armor on, _or_ picked up a sword just in case. It could have been anyone. _What an idiot_, he thought to himself furiously. "How do you know where I live?" he asked her, stepping aside to let her in. She walked into the entrance and turned to him as he shut the door behind her, "Varric told me" she replied. "Why did I even ask" he scoffed, walking past her and snatching a shirt off the back of a chair. He walked into the main hall and up the stairs; "You can come up," he told her, turning round and noticing that she had stopped in the middle of the hall. She nodded and followed him up the stairs and into the main room of the mansion. "Sit", he told her as he gestured to a wooden bench next to the fireplace. He turned round and exited the room, pulling his nightshirt off. As he turned the corner she caught a glimpse of his back. His shoulder blades stuck out a little, making a very complex set of white markings shimmer slightly in the light that shone through the window. She shuddered; they looked like heat burns, but she knew better.

He walked back into the room, wearing his grey linen shirt and armor trousers. He sat on the bench and looked at her, "what?" she said, "what do you mean, what? You're the one who's here at six in the morning" he replied sternly. Her eyes saddened slightly, "I wanted to see you" she said, lowering her gaze to the floor again "and… and say sorry… I know it's my fault you're not feeling well, Danarius' magic must be wearing off now that he's dead, and seeing me must bring back… memories". His eyebrows rose, _how could she know? _He thought. She looked up, "can I see them?" she asked. "See what?" he said, but he knew exactly what she meant. "See what he did to you" she replied, simply. He looked at her, frowning, "No" he said firmly. He wasn't going to strip naked in front of her so she could see what he most hated about himself. He barely knew her, well, in a manner of speech. She sighed, "I knew you'd refuse" she said, her voice tired and resigned. "Why?" he asked her, "Because I care" she replied, "about _you_".

He stared at her, lost for words. The only person he knew who had ever said that to him was Hawke, and it had taken her years. He could tell she wasn't lying; he could sense it, although he couldn't understand how or why. "What are… _were_ you to me?" he asked her, instinctively knowing the answer but curious nonetheless. "We were friends… of sorts" she replied, smiling vaguely "we enjoyed each other's company". He squirmed in his seat slightly. _Of sorts, indeed_, he thought to himself, trying to block out the images of her moaning beneath him.

He sighed and stood up in the sunlight coming from the window, knowing he'd regret it in a matter of seconds, and said, "If you come near me I'll kill you". He lifted his shirt off over his head and placed it on the wooden bench beside them and watched her as she raised a hand over her mouth, inhaling sharply.

Her gaze washed over his torso. There was no malice in her eyes as she followed the markings, rippling over his skin like branches, over his abdomen, his chest, up and around his shoulders and down his arms. He was no longer skinny as he used to be; his muscles were taut, bulging slightly on his lean torso. His biceps stretched the skin on his arms, gracefully tightening at his elbow. She followed the burns down his forearm, noticing how his slightly swelled veins made them ripple as they crawled down to his wrists in elegant swirls and ended in five very straight, defined lines across his palm to the tips of his fingers. She looked up at him, tears swelling in her eyes, her hand still cupped over her mouth. He sighed heavily and grabbed his shirt from the bench.

As he put his shirt back on she noticed an oval shaped burn around his navel, which spiraled off down under his belt; the muscles above the sides of his pelvis bulging as he bent to lift his shirt over his head. Her mind wandered, and she blushed a little, confused by the absurd combination of feelings that were twisting her stomach into a pulp.

"Is this why you came?" he asked her, sitting on the bench again and looking at her gravely. She shook her head. "There's something else I have to tell you" she muttered awkwardly, "we're in danger" she said, looking up at his half-astonished, half-enraged face.

* * *

**Sorry for the late update! **It's strange, I had a dream about this scene - someone from Fenris' past wanting to see the Lyrium burns. And I've always thought him getting his memory back would be like this: no sudden flow of emotions coming back to put colour in his life. He is a different man now, and has built a new life for himself.. well, more or less. So to get back what he lost so long ago must be like looking at a film, only, he's _in it_. Does that make sense?


	11. Whisky

**I am so sorry** for the late update. I've been working! Hope there's still some readers left. I've made this one quite long to make up for my absence. Enjoy!

* * *

**11. Whisky**

He stared at her, trying to work out the expression on her face. Was it sadness? Or was it fear? "What do you mean _in danger_?" he asked cautiously, not wanting to lose his patience again. She looked up at him, her cheeks slightly flushed. "You killed Danarius, he had powerful connections", she said simply, "so?" he demanded, an impatient edge starting to crawl along the tone of his voice. "You think the magisters would permit you, an escaped elf slave, to run free after having killed one of them? There could be no worse disgrace" her voice darkened, "I killed a group of slavers here in Kirkwall not a week ago. They're looking for you, and there's more and more coming for you" her head tilted to one side "I guess now I see why they haven't reached you yet, you have friends in high places" she concluded, watching him closely.

He suddenly got to his feet with an impatient huff, and started pacing up and down in front of the fireplace. He shook his head as Asya watched him with a frown, still sitting on the wooden bench. "I knew it" he spat, "I knew I'd never be free, I could feel it even after I killed that bastard of a mage". Asya opened her mouth, as if to speak, but closed it again. "I hate this-" he shook his head again impatiently "-this whole life" he growled. "It is not a question of being free, emma vhenan*" Asya said softly. "What did you call me?" he snapped harshly at her, "and what an earth are you talking about?".

She sighed and watched him, as he looked furiously down at her, demanding answers "you have been _free_ ever since the very first second you escaped Danarius' filthy clutches" she replied, "you're simply in danger". "Oh is that it? Where were you eight years ago to illuminate me then?" Fenris said sarcastically. Asya frowned at him, "you thought you could just escape, kill his apprentice and then him and live happily ever after?" she demanded, slightly offended by his sarcasm. Fenris scowled and turned away, trying to keep control over his already burning hands "what would you know about being an escaped slave? What would you know about me? As far as I'm concerned, I've just met you," he said coldly. She looked at him, her eyes blank. She got to her feet and walked over to the door, where she stopped and turned to face him, "you're right" she breathed, "I know no Fenris. Leto is dead. His body has been filled with ice and steel and nothing more. You know nothing but hatred, and you prefer it to be that way, don't you?" she said, a cold fire burning in her blue eyes, "but don't worry, I shall make sure they all pay. I will avenge Leto, emma vhenan*, kill all those who step on his ashes" she looked at his blank eyes for a moment, then turned away and left the mansion.

He slowly sat back on the bench, and could feel it was still warm where Asya had been sitting. He let his head drop into his cupped hands and sighed heavily, cursing in Tevinter under his breath. He felt slightly stiff, his stomach upturned by Asya's final speech. He lifted his head slightly and looked at his hands. They were wet. He furiously wiped his eyes dry and grabbed a book from the bench, slamming it into the wall with all the force he could muster, "Vishante kaffas!". A few pages flew out of the book as it hit the floor. He stormed into his bed quarters, grabbed his armour, pulled it on, then reached for his sword. She was not going to avenge him _without him_, if that made any sense at all. He rushed down the steps to the main hall and opened the entrance door, slamming it behind him as he stepped into the early morning light.

Asya stormed up the stairs to the room quarters of the Hanged Man, her blood furiously throbbing in her ears. _How could he?_ She thought angrily, as she carelessly bumped into someone. "Hey Ivory, you in a rush?" Varric's voice interrupted her angry thoughts and she twirled round to see the dwarf's scrutinizing look pierce her painfully. "Oh, hi Varric" she said, a little flustered, "come tell me everything in front of a pint, I'll buy" he offered. She gave him a look that said _I really shouldn't_, but she sighed and said, "I guess I'll be having more than just a pint, Varric"; "Fair enough" the dwarf chuckled.

[…]

She flung her head back and stared at the grimy wooden ceiling of the Hanged Man. "Listen, sweet pea, I've known that elf for eight-odd years now" Varric said, knowingly swilling the last dregs of whisky around in his glass and finishing them off. He watched Asya lift her arms and place her hands over her eyes, "nobody's ever got close to him.. well, apart from Hawke, but that didn't end in roses if you know what I mean" he comforted her. Or at least, he thought he was, because his eyebrows rose in surprise at the angry look she gave him as soon as he'd finished the sentence. "She what?" she demanded, slightly wonkily adjusting her position on her seat "what do you mean she got _close_ to him?"; "Oh" Varric said, in a way that sounded very much like _Oh, shit_. Asya huffed and shot a frustrated look at her half empty glass of whisky; she picked it up and raised it, turning to Varric, a sarcastically exasperated look on her face, "to my useless ten years on the run, then" she said, and downed all that was left of her whisky, "wow that's bad" she added with a grimace. "Oh I've had worse" Varric replied, "and.. don't give up on that guy. As much as his extreme broodiness frustrates me, his heart's in the right place.. well, more or less" he added with a chuckle. Asya bent her head sideways slightly, and rested it on her hand, looking sideways at the dwarf. "So, what do you _do_ Varric?" she asked him, ignoring the last few things he'd said; "Oh, this and that. I'm a storyteller so to speak, get paid for being it too. And I also get paid for _not_ telling stories, if you know what I mean" he told her with a wink. "Lovely" she replied, her eyesight slightly fuzzy. _I can't believe it's noon and I'm drunk_, she thought as she concentrated hard on not looking drunk at all, pretending she was listening to Varric.

Then something caught her attention, "Hey there Broody, have you come to join us or are you just going to stand there like an idiot?" there was a small laugh in Varric's voice, and she felt someone sit on the bench beside her. She turned round and saw Fenris staring at her disapprovingly. "You've been drinking" he said, looking at both of them. _Oh come on, do I really look that drunk?_ Asya wondered as she tried her best to shoot a superior and careless look at him, failing dreadfully. "She needed to unwind" Varric shrugged. Asya didn't listen to Fenris' angry comment, or to Varric's snide reply; she was looking at the elf's left ear, which had turned slightly pink. Her gaze trailed off down his jawline and followed his profile up his chin, up his lips, along the bridge of his nose and stopped on his eyes. _It's really you, it's really you_, she thought to herself absently. Fenris turned his head to face her, and she realized all too late that she was smiling, very stupidly at that, and that his expression could not be more furious. "Oh" she said "sorry, um, I think I need to pay a visit to my bed" she said, having completely ignored Fenris' and Varric's conversation and therefore totally unaware that they had been talking about _her_. She turned to the dwarf, who winked at her with a smile, "you know where to find me Ivory. Give her a hand, will you?" he added nodding at Fenris and sloppily getting to his feet, "I'll see you guys later then yes?" he said, turning round and heading to the bar. Fenris' ears were definitely pink now, he turned his head towards her, but his eyes were on the several glasses that littered the wooden table. He opened his mouth to speak, a frown lining his forehead. "I'm fine I can handle myself," Asya blurted out before he could say anything "I'm a _stranger_ anyway right?" she added, dangerously picking up on the argument they'd had several hours ago. She felt bold, as you do when you drink almost a whole bottle of whisky all to yourself, and a few pints. "Why are you even here eh?" she said, nodding her head at him. "Look. Don't make me hit you" Fenris growled, quite clearly struggling to stop himself from yelling at her. Asya raised an eyebrow, and stood up rather wonkily. She turned round, stepped over the bench, and as she pulled her other leg over, she tripped. An arm shot out and she grabbed it, steadying herself, her mind suddenly very fuzzy. "Oh" she said weakly. She heard Fenris curse under his breath and, before she could protest any further, he'd flung her arm around his neck and fiercely grabbed the side of her waist.

_They were walking along an alleyway._

_Her arm hung loosely around his neck and his hand gently clasped her waist. The cobblestone street glimmered slightly in the moonlight. She laughed, and turned to him "I'm such a loser" she told him. "No you're not" he replied with a chuckle; "yes I am, look at me" she said dramatically gesturing at herself with her free hand "happens to the best of us" he suggested helpfully, smiling at her. "Hmm" she replied thoughtfully. She turned to him and smiled, "you're a good one Leto," and she pressed her lips on the crook between his jawline and his neck._

They had reached the top of the stairs. "I can handle myself from here" she insisted, but as he tentatively let go of her he felt her knees buckle a little, so he renewed his grip and carried on, wishing he had never set foot in the inn. "Never changed, have you?" she muttered knowingly, an absent smile on her lips, her eyes focused on nothing, but pointing in his direction. Fenris felt his insides squirm uncomfortably, as he opened the door to her room. They limped awkwardly over to the bed and he lowered her onto it. Before he could withdraw from her, her hand shot up and pressed down on his cheek. He felt her lips touch the crook between his jawline and his neck and recoiled, as if he had been burned. She seemed not to notice. She rolled over, her lips still curved in an absent-minded smile.

* * *

*emma vhenan= "my heart" in elven.


	12. Rebels

**12. Rebels**

She opened her eyes, looked at the grimy wooden ceiling of her room in the Hanged Man and groaned. Headache. _Great_, she thought bitterly as vague memories started to emerge from the persistent throbbing somewhere near her temple. She slowly sat up and grimaced as her head adjusted to the change. It was dark outside, which meant she had probably slept through the whole afternoon. A knock on the door made her jump slightly. She snailed out of bed and grabbed her usual dagger as she went to open the door. "Oh" she said in a hollow voice. The green eyes that met hers were not the ones she had been half-expecting.

Hawke watched her closely as she stepped aside to let her in. "Are you alright?" she asked, as she sat down on the stool next to her bed. "I'm fine" Asya lied, as she sat on the bed, "why are you here?" she asked coldly. Hawke raised her thin eyebrows, a lopsided grin slowly slipping along her lips, "why do you think?" she replied sarcastically, "I don't think I've seen Fenris so confused and so angry at the same time since he helped me save the mages of Kirkwall" the woman said in a matter-of-fact voice, leaning back on the wall and crossing her arms, "and now you say there's slavers after him? He's a right ray of sunshine". "That's none of your business" Asya replied, the tips of her ears turning a slightly angry red at the thought of him going to _her_. Hawke chuckled and looked down at her boots, "Fenris and I have been friends for years now, of course it's my business. And before you ask," she added looking up, "we are just friends. Always have been, always will be, too"

"I don't care" Asya muttered, dropping her head in her cupped hands, her elbows resting on the tips of her knees "I don't know who _Fenris_ is" she said, her frustrated voice muffled by her hands. Hawke frowned, "yes you do" she said sternly, "most importantly, you know who he _was_, which is all he has ever wanted to know". Asya looked up, an eyebrow raised "sure doesn't seem like it" she said. "He is a troubled man, Asya. What, you thought he'd go all puppy eyed and run away into the sunset with you?" Hawke replied sarcastically. Asya let out a snort of laughter, "he was never like that anyway," she said. Her smile lingered on her lips for a few moments, before she turned to Hawke, opened her mouth, paused, and closed it again, turning away. "What?" Hawke asked. The elf sighed heavily and turned back to Hawke's lime green eyes, "yes, Leto is in danger. And so am I" she said, watching the woman carefully, "Danarius was a very powerful man, the slimy bastard. In fact, he was one of the most powerful and influential magisters in Minrathous" "So?" "…_So_, when his boyfriends found out about Leto killing _him_, his apprentice and all his guards, they.. didn't take it too well, see" she finished. "So they're sending an army of slavers for him?" Hawke asked her, bewildered. "I guess it's also because of those markings he was given. They're worth a dragon's body weight in solid gold. And anyway, the shame of an escaped slave killing his former master is probably unbearable, especially as the former master in question was Danarius."

Hawke looked at her boots again, wriggling her feet in them, "Varric said there's rumors of slave unrest over in the Imperium" she said thoughtfully "I didn't think much of it, but then he told me, this afternoon in fact, that there are people talking about a rebellion", she looked up and watched Asya's eyes widen in half-excited, half-scared shock. "A rebellion" Asya repeated, tasting the word in her mouth. An ecstatic smile crawled across her lips.

* * *

"A rebellion?" Fenris repeated, a small frown lining his brow. Varric nodded once. Hawke smoothed her eyebrows thoughtfully. They were all sitting at their usual round table at the Hanged Man, plus one. Asya's eyes slipped, unnoticed, from one person to the other, taking in Varric's golden earrings and clever smile, Hawke's lime green eyes and short black hair, Anders' straggly golden locks, the pirate woman's fiercely proud eyes and foxy, cunning grin, the Dalish elf's innocent and slightly confused expression, laced by her ever so slight tattoos, a man with startlingly blue eyes and flyaway chocolate brown hair, and a stern-looking red haired woman wearing the guard-captain's armour. She stubbornly refused to look over at Fenris, even though she could feel his eyes pierce the side of her head every now and again.

"Hawke, why are you wasting my time?" the red-haired woman demanded "What?" Hawke said, slightly offended, "I'm _guard-captain_ of Kirkwall, how can I walk into a rebellion against the Imperium with you? That's what you want to do, right?" "You just answered your own question, hun, this is nothing to do with your _Shit_wall" the pirate-woman interrupted sarcastically. Hawke looked at her, a warning look in her eyes, then turned back to the guard-captain "You helped me here in Kirkwall when it meant siding against the knight-commander, why not now? You know it's the right thing to do, Aveline"

Aveline looked away defiantly, "it's not my place to-" "-you think slavery is just?" Fenris interrupted, incredulously angry. "No" Aveline replied sternly, "but I have responsibilities, especially as the knight-commander has not yet been replaced, and-" "Bullshit" the pirate-woman interrupted again, a sly laugh in her voice. "Isabela don't –" "Oh come on Hawke, we're all thinking the same thing!"

Before Aveline could put words to her anger, Asya cleared her voice slightly, and muttered "you can't simply walk into Minrathous like you're on holiday you know".

Everyone turned round, and she suddenly felt very self-conscious of her not-being-part of this group of friends. Isabela smiled widely and quite openly let her eyes fall from her long silvery-white hair to her woven leather-bound chest, "I don't think we've been introduced properly, sweet pea" she said, tilting her head sideways slightly, her round golden earrings jingling a little as she did. "There is no end to your decency" Aveline muttered. "My name is Asya" the elf said, a slightly confused frown on her brow. Fenris watched her. His insides squirmed a little as his gaze also slipped from the neatly arranged silvery white hair that fell over her shoulder, to her slightly protruding collarbone, down to the woven straps of leather wrapped tightly around her chest. He forced the images of what he knew was under those straps out of his mind and concentrated on listening, averting his eyes from Asya and staring intently at a small hole on the surface of the table. "I will be leaving tomorrow," he heard Asya say seriously, "The more fighters we can gather for this, the better. We are more than they are, and they are but men. Slavery is illegal almost all over Thedas, as it should-_will_ be in the Imperium as well. Freedom is everyone's fight" she concluded. Anders nodded thoughtfully, swilling his drink round in its cloudy glass. _Oddly familiar_, Fenris thought to himself vaguely.

Aveline was about to say something, when the front door of the Hanged Man loudly slammed open and about a couple dozen fully armed men entered, along with a solemn looking mage and a few painfully thin elves, dressed in what looked like scraps of old cotton. Hawke stood up and glared at them.

"Ah, the Champion of Kirkwall. I trust you will aid me in my, _uh_, mission" he said eying her bitterly, "I am Cassius, senior magister of Tevinter. I am looking for a friend of yours, just for, _uh_, a chat" he smiled coldly.

Fenris froze, his face conveniently covered by Isabela's head. She clearly knew this as she remained quite unnaturally still. His eyes rolled over to Asya, and he almost jumped at the sight of her. Her deep blue eyes were wide and scared, pointing right into his. She, too, was frozen to the spot, but there was more than fear in her gaze. There was some kind of wild, savage hatred growing in it, the same hatred he knew had been eating away at his soul for years. They both knew when it was time to move. Cassius took a couple of steps closer, and chuckled cruelly at the sight of the lyrium-marked elf "Ah, Fenr-" but before he could finish the word, a silver dagger had sunk hard into his forehead, square between the eyes, which shone red for a split second before dulling out, devoid of life. Asya cursed harshly under her breath her arm still outstretched before her, as silence engulfed the Hanged Man like thick smoke. The armed men watched the magister fall heavily to the floor, a pool of blood slowly seeping across the floor from his head; they turned to Asya, slowly drawing their swords, some of them shaking their heads angrily. "Lovely" Isabela commented cheerfully.


	13. Theravain, Haana, and the Mission

**13. Theravain, Haana, and the Mission**

"The Hanged Man is definitely not a happy place for Tevinter magisters" Hawke commented as she stood, hands on her hips, in the midst of two dozen dead men.

Fenris crouched down to examine one of the bodies, "these are no ordinary guards," he said, more to himself than to his companions, as he traced the etched silver markings on the armor with his finger. Anders was quickly tending to everyone's wounds, small balls of blue light flashing from his hands.

Asya pulled her dagger out of Cassius' forehead and wiped it on his robe, kneeling next to his dead body. She stored the silver weapon back on her belt and started searching the magister's pockets. "Ah", she said triumphantly as she extracted a leather pouch from one of the robe's internal pockets, "this should give us a little more information". She untied the pouch's silvery straps and pulled out a couple of envelopes. She heard someone gasp sharply behind her and whipped round, only to see a gaunt elf cup a hand over his mouth, eyes wide, staring at the corpse next to her. "You're free," Asya told him with a faint smile, "as are you" she added, turning to face the other painfully skinny elf woman who was crouching behind a table. Fenris looked away. He couldn't bear to watch as the elf behind the table burst into tears, hands over her eyes. Merrill rushed over to her and put an arm around her shoulders, muttering something in elven. "What are your names?" Asya asked. The elf stared at her. "I don't remember" he replied, rather blankly. "Of course you do" she insisted as she got up, walked over to Hawke, handed her the envelopes she was holding and turned back to him. Her head tilted to one side a little and she smiled slightly, "You have no master, say what you will, you are free" she repeated gently.

"Theravain*," the elf replied, "and Haana*" he added, gesturing timidly to the woman Merrill was hugging. Asya paused thoughtfully, "Good names," she told him, "be proud of them". Theravain watched her, a little fearful, unsure on what he should say or do. Hawke rummaged around in a pouch hanging from her belt and extracted a few gold coins from it, "Here," she said cheerfully tossing them to the elf, "buy yourselves some clothes and you can stay at mine for a while. You have nowhere else to go right?"

He caught the coins and opened his hands before him, staring at them. A sudden flash of guilt washed over his gaunt face and he looked up at Hawke, "I can't-" but Hawke waved her hand and shook her head at him. "Of course you can" she echoed Asya, who smiled at her. Fenris raised his eyebrows, "They can stay at yours? What's _that_ supposed to mean?"  
Hawke turned round to face him in mild surprise, "It means they don't have to sleep on the streets and get mugged within five minutes of them being there".

"We can clean, cook, fix your-" Theravain blurted out apologetically, but Hawke waved at him again and he fell silent. "You are no slave," she told him sternly, but her expression softened a little as she looked over at Haana, who was trying to stop herself from sobbing. "You will be my guest, Theravain," she told him.

* * *

She had only been in Hawke Mansion once before, and not for very long. She looked around and let everyone's furious talking wash over her. The long wooden table they were sitting round was covered in fruit bowls and bottles of red wine. "Are you alright?" Fenris' voice came from beside her and she turned to face him, slightly surprised. "I am," she replied, "what about you?"

Fenris shrugged and picked at a grape in the bowl before him.

"So, plans!" she heard Hawke say loudly, and the table fell politely silent, apart from Isabela's quiet snickering. Aveline glared at her, and Varric looked down at his hands, smiling widely.  
"We need to gather supplies and get the word out in the undercity," Hawke said in a matter-of-fact voice, "I say we leave in two days. Varric have you heard anything new from your contacts?" she asked the dwarf, who nodded, sipped his wine thoughtfully, and placed the glass back on the table.  
"Apparently there are communities of escaped slaves, servants and outlaws living in camps on the outskirts of the Free Marches," Varric told them, "they're organizing the thing," he added, "and my contact is right here".

Fenris saw Asya nod once beside him and felt his insides squirm a little, that must have been where Varania was. "I am leaving tomorrow," Asya said, "they attack on sight and should be warned of your arrival if you're thinking of going there in all your fancy armor". Hawke frowned, "you're the only one who knows the way," she argued.  
"Don't worry, Hawke, I'm not the forgetful type" Varric chuckled with a wink, "Ivory here has told me the way". Hawke nodded and looked down at the envelopes Asya had pulled out of Cassius' pouch, "these letters are full of names and locations, and there's a map as well" she said, opening a brownish map of Thedas in front of her, "Cassius marked some specific spots on it, any ideas?"

Asya tilted her head ever so slightly towards Fenris and sighed, turning to Hawke, "He was looking for Leto" she told her, stubbornly refusing to call him by his slave name, "and for me" she added. Aveline frowned, "so why are they looking for you as well?" she asked, tapping her fingers on the wooden surface of the table. Asya paused for a few moments, "I helped a few slaves escape and escaped myself" she replied blandly. Aveline raised her eyebrows but did not reply, swilling her wine round in its glass and turning to Hawke with a skeptical look on her face.

Before Hawke could reply, Theravain stepped into the room closely followed by Haana, they were wearing much more dignified cotton clothing and had washed. The elf's eyes swept across the faces of the people sitting at the table, who were all watching him curiously, "mistress Hawke, we would like to join you in your mission," he told her, a slight tremor in his voice but otherwise quite confident. "Oh don't call me mistress, makes me feel so old" Hawke replied with a chuckle, feeling Fenris' scowl burn into the side of her head, her expression hardened a little, "it's dangerous for you to go back there" she told him.

Haana rested a hand on Theravain's shoulder and, for the first time, spoke. "We have nowhere to go and nothing left to live for. Even if this were our last journey, we would gladly live it servi- _along side_ those who saved us," she said. Her voice was sweet and innocent, and the room fell oddly silent.

"Come with me tomorrow," Asya told them, a kind smile on her lips, "you will be safe". Fenris felt his stomach vanish and suddenly reappear, as if he'd jumped a couple of steps without noticing it, "I shall come as well" he said, realizing too late that his mouth had opened without his brain agreeing for it to do so.

Isabela propped her elbows on the table and picked a couple of grapes from a bowl, popping them in her mouth with a smile, "you guys are just too cute" she commented, "guess I'm not going to be able to flirt with the hot elf girl after all" she added, picking up an apple and biting into it, an ironic matter-of-fact expression on her face. Aveline rubbed her forehead, shaking her head slightly.  
"Oh c'mon Rivaini give them some slack" Varric chuckled, looking at her with an entertained smile on his lips.

"There is no need for you to come," Asya hissed, the tips of her ears suddenly quite pink, "we'll be fine". Fenris shook his head, ignoring Isabela's comment, "the Free Marches are a dangerous place, you are not on your own anymore, you will be protecting another two elves," he replied sternly, "I am coming with you".

* * *

*Theravain = "Spirit of the Sky"

*Haana = "Maker of Freedom"


End file.
